


Seven years in the making

by Pickl3lily



Series: Sheriff and Melissa oneshots [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Kinda like these tags, Miscommunication, Mostly canon compliant up till 5x07, Pre-show and beyond, References to Past Domestic Abuse, This fic got away from me, references to alcoholism, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pickl3lily/pseuds/Pickl3lily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had known each other for fourteen years. They had been friends for six - going on seven. A mostly narrative look at how the Sheriff and Melissa's friendship began, and evolved. </p><p>OR:<br/>A focus on the two amazing parents on the show (and brief appearance of the third), as their friendship grows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven years in the making

Sheriff John Stilinski had loved his wife; Claudia was the love of his life, and for six years, he had been loyal to the memory of her. She hadn’t been the first woman he had slept with, but after they took their vows, she became his only and for the 13 years of amazing marriage they’d had, she had been the only woman he ever wanted – he had noticed that other woman had been beautiful, had been desirable, but he had never strayed, emotionally or physically, and after her death, he found himself a new kind of lover. Whiskey. It dulled the ache left behind after her death, allowed him to forget that he was alone now, that he had a ten year old son that had been a handful with two parents, and now he had to do this alone.

Whiskey had been his mistress for a little over a year, when he received a frantic call from Melissa McCall; at first he had started toward the kitchen, ready to take a swig of alcohol in order to brace himself for whatever mischief Stiles had gotten himself into, but stopped when he heard her already panicked tones worsen as she mentioned her son’s name. He faltered in step, and patiently demanded for her to tell him what had happened.

It had been a blur, he had been at the McCall residence in a time that would have earnt him a ticket, were he not the sheriff with sirens on his car; he knows that he arrived a few seconds before the ambulance, and that when Raphael McCall tried to enter the ambulance with his wife and son, he had pinned the man by the throat to the side of the house. “Mel, go with Scott; I’ll meet you at the hospital to take your statement.” He knew he sounded too fierce, too emotional, he knew that her compliance was just because Scott still hadn’t woken up and she needed to get him to the hospital, but as he took in the bruised cheek that she was sporting, his grip tightened and his anger refused to dissipate.

 

He had been there when Scott had woken up, confused and asking if he’d had another asthma attack, childish innocence in his voice as he protested pitifully “I _am_ taking my inhalers mom, just like you told me, I _swear_!” He had been present for Melissa reassuring her son that “I know honey, I know. You fell – don’t you remember?” He had taken her to one side and asked her gently why she hadn’t told Scott what had really happened, that she wasn’t really going to let Raphael get away with it, was she? He had held her as she cried, and had sat in his cruiser outside of her house as she told Raphael that he needed to sort himself out, and that he couldn’t stay in the house while he did, just in case things turned violent. He watched as he’d slunk out of the house and driven off into the horizon; he had comforted her a week later as the boys played upstairs and she told him that her husband wasn’t coming back – not even to see Scott. It had been the kick he needed to ease back on the drinking – he still loved the apathy it provided him, but he wasn’t drinking anywhere near the amount he’d been starting to, and barely any liquor was imbibed when he knew that Stiles was in the house.

 

When the boys turned thirteen, it had been her turn to comfort him, now that they were friends and not just friendly acquaintances through their children; it wasn’t really comfort, as much as it was reassurance, when the sheriff, looking for Stiles’ emergency bottle of Adderall, found a collection of magazines. Adult magazines. Adult magazines, only two of which had women in – later, more females were added to the collection, but at first, it was a very heavily male-orientated assortment. He had called her in a panic, and she had come straight over, and laughed at his flushed face and laughed harder still when he showed her the collection; she informed him that no, Stiles probably wasn’t gay, and at his protest she informed him that from the collection, his son appeared to be bisexual, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have girlfriends. Her face had become pinched and her tone disapproving as she questioned “So what if he were gay? He’s still your son, John. He’s still your nosy son with ADHD and more intelligence than you give him credit for. He’s still Stiles.” A week of subtly intense observation and he conceded that she was right and bought her a bouquet of carnations, her favourites, as gratitude.

 

The mutual comfort and support went in a circle, he would comfort her, then she would comfort him, he would advise her, she would advise him; they became so incredibly comfortable with their friendship, had become so close that he hadn’t questioned it when she made him a key, merely took it for what it was – an assurance that she would always be there for him – and returned the gesture in kind.

So, it wasn’t really a surprise when the night after the Matt Daehler drama at the station, he came home to find her on his couch; he just took it as red that they would be having a mutual comfort session, spending the night talking it through. No, the surprise had been the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels that she was clutching in her trembling hands. Now, that’s not to say he hadn’t seen her have a glass of wine with her dinner, or after a particularly hard day at work, but ultimately, Melissa didn’t really drink alcohol – he didn’t blame her after everything with Raphael but… No. This wasn’t right. She never had said anything, not given him a chance to say anything, before she set down the bottle and lurched forward, burying her face in his chest and letting out huge heaving sobs.

He had been in law enforcement for a long time, longer than he’d care to admit, and he was no stranger to women, or hell, even men who had been through a traumatic event breaking down, but he hadn’t seen her in a state like this since that night six years ago; he knew, logically, as was their normal way of coping, he should really be trying to get her to talk about it, with both of them having stated that talking through a problem made it hurt much less – but he just couldn’t do it. She had an air about her that he’d never, not in fourteen years of acquaintance and six years of friendship, ever felt from her, and he knew not to push. He shushed at her gently, and stroked her hair until she fell asleep, face unhappy even as she slept, and clutching him so tightly that he couldn’t extricate himself from her grip.

The next morning, still dark outside, when he was woken by the noise of Stiles coming through the door, he looked up to see his son, who had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of them; he thought his son might have looked surprised, angry, or hell, anything but the mix of guilt and relief that he wore across his face. He was shocked when Stiles, still having not said anything, crossed the room to pull a blanket from the armchair and drape it over the two, before turning towards the stairs, phone in hand, presumably texting Scott, to let him know where his mother was.

 

It was months later, in that root cellar, covered in dust and tied up by a disfigured and pissed off woman, a _Darach_ , that he finally got the story of why she had been so upset that night; she had been like that, due to the revelation that her only son, her only child - the kid John viewed as a second son – was a werewolf. He had to admit, that it was as good a reason as any for why she had been like that. “You did help me you know?” She broke the silence they had fallen into while he processed everything, while he had been wrapping his mind around _werewolves_. He looked up, shocked and confused, which obviously showed on her face as she continued, “That night when I came to you and may have been crying just a little.” He scoffs, and she smiles a little, relieved that he doesn’t seem angry at her.

“I know you didn’t really say much, but until that point, I hadn’t even talked to Scott, not really; you know, a hunter in control of a lizard-boy had threatened me, threatened him, and I knew that it would get people killed, but I just wanted to pretend things were normal, for things to seem normal, so I told him to do whatever the guy wanted. That morning when I woke up, I was practically half on top of you, so I knew Stiles had to have been the one to put the blanket over us; it made me think of when the boys were thirteen, you remember? You just found his porn stash, and I remembered what I told you about not treating Stiles differently just because he might not have been the heteronormative son you wanted – oh seriously, John, it’s a real word, grow up!”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head lightly as the sheriff of Beacon Hills sniggered at sociologically accepted terms. “ _Anyway_ , I realised that Scott hadn’t really changed since becoming a werewolf, not in the ways that mattered, he was still my son, and I loved him – if I could love him for every aspect of his personality, then I shouldn’t stop loving him for an altered gene, that he has no control over – it’s like intense racism, and I am no bigot… You know I’ve actually forgotten where I was going with all of this? ”

The pair looked at each other, and without warning, the two began to laugh, unable to stop as they struggled to catch their breath, relishing in the small amount of mirth to be found in this situation; they laughed until they hurt from it, and even then they continued to chuckle, in one of those situations where you laugh so that you don’t give into the tears that threaten to fall, and they were still letting out sporadic giggles, and jaw-aching grins at one another right up until the root cellar’s doors opened. They both held their breath, simultaneously hoping for their sons, for the members of their sons’ pack, only to have both of the hearts sink as the Darach, under the guise of Jennifer Blake began to descend the stairs, a _thunk, thunk, thunk_ , following her as she dragged the unconscious form of Chris Argent down the stairs, hands under his armpits.

 

They remained silent until she left, and met each-other’s eyes, in silent reassurance to one another, that everything would be fine; the Darach was gone for less than a minute before Argent woke up, and they turned their attention on the hunter.

 

 

Melissa and John grew closer in the weeks following the showdown with Jennifer, Julia, the Darach, or _whatever_ ; and everything had gone back to, well, as normal as things could be with their newly shared knowledge of the supernatural, and how the mock sacrifices were affecting their sons. Their friendship grew to include Chris, who, when he wasn’t acting like a gun-toting badass hunter, was actually kind of nerdy and who, honest to God, _baked_ and _knitted_ , the three began to have weekly brunches while the children were at school, or hanging out, and they would just be. Sometimes, they would discuss the supernatural, but mostly, it was the mundane, normal parent stuff that they really spoke about, and Chris always brought something homemade.

John and Melissa still had their own evening meetings with red wine, and cheesy Spanish soap operas that Melissa could understand, but that was always muted so that John could run a mocking commentary of what he thought was happening while she cackled with mirth; it was during one of these evenings, during an ad break, with a glass each of rosé and a shared container sharing the last piece of Chris’ mouth-watering apple crumble between them, and the bag of supernatural weapons at their feet, they agreed that their new friendship with the hunter was one of the best decisions that they’d made. They clinked their forks together instead of toasting their glasses and turned back to the television.

 

The Nogitsune, was something that nobody had been prepared for; the pair had not seen each other much after the MRI at the hospital, and the next time they were alone together, it was after John had had to ‘interview’ the kids on Allison’s death and as soon as he could get away from the station, he had gone to tell Melissa everything, including how the final fight went, as she had not yet heard from Scott; their alone period was short, with the two of them then going to console their friend over the loss of his daughter.

 

Neither of them were surprised when Chris took off for a while, and both were pleased that Isaac had gone with him, as the two could help each other through their grief; the weekly brunches continued with them, and now they had the topic of Malia and Stiles’ new relationship to discuss. At first they had been thrilled that Stiles had someone to help him in the aftermath, until John had found out that not only was his son in a sexual relationship, which is troubling for any parent, but Stiles had confided in him, that he honestly hadn’t been fully in control of his body the first time. Melissa, was concerned about the fact that Malia had never been anything other than a young child as a human, and the two of them found themselves veering away from the topic, if only to not disgust themselves and each other. They both agreed that the relationship had nothing to do with them and as it wasn’t causing any harm, they vowed to stay out of it.

 

Then came the benefactor, the return of Kate Argent, the de-aging of Derek and the lingering presence of Raphael McCall; with all the craziness, the pair didn’t see each other much outside of the supernatural shenanigans. One of the few times that they had been alone, had been when the sheriff had been called into the hospital following officers being attacked and killed; when John had arrived, he had found Melissa covered in blood, with deep scratches on her leg – she assured him that she had gotten off fairly lightly from the wendigo attack, and _seriously? Wendigo?_ He handed the rest of the interviews over to a deputy, and drove Melissa home; he walked with her to the door, and she looked up suddenly, a wave of understanding crossing her face and before the sheriff could question it, she sped inside and closed the door quickly behind her. John attributed it to a stressful and traumatic day, and let it slide.

It wasn’t until after Mexico that they fell back into their usual routine of brunches and Spanish soap operas – Chris visited with them sometimes, but more often than not it was just the two of them. It was during a brunch when Melissa decided to broach the topic, and after watching him toy with his wedding band for a full five minutes, feeling more awkward than she’d have liked, she casually asked if he thought he’d ever be ready to date again and had watched his jaw drop in surprise. He quickly composed himself and after clearing his throat, contributed to conversation by replying with, “did Scott tell you about Liam’s full moon faux pas? Naked, wolfed out and running through the streets?” His voice was laced with humour, but he had panic in his eyes and Melissa got the hint, and dropped the subject, quickly falling into this new topic and feeling oddly hurt when he didn’t notice that her smile was as fake as a Hale’s sunny disposition.

She thought, a week later, that the awkwardness surrounding that question was answered, seeing that – for the first time since she had known him – John wasn’t wearing his ring. She smiled at the thought of her friend finally being ready to put himself out there; she felt flattered that he sought her out for help with cases – supernatural or otherwise.

It was after their breakthrough that everything went to hell; she and John had just figured out the link between the teenagers, and she was riding a high as he dropped her at her house and walked her to her door. She was in a great mood, he was smiling so close to her, and as he bent down to peck her cheek like always, she grew bold. She hadn’t realised she’d wanted to do it until then, until she lightly grabbed at his shoulders and closed the distance between their mouths; just like she had promised Scott, this was just as amazing and extraordinary as her first kiss with Raphael, and just half a minute later, it was just as painful. He kissed back; he did. But he quickly pulled away and returned her confused and hurt expression with his own conflicted one.

“Mel, I like you so much, you’ve been my rock for years, and I love you.” She allowed herself a moment of elation, a small smile forming without her consent – she knew there was a ‘but’ coming. “But… I’m, well, I’ve been seeing Natalie.” She pulled back , placing a sizeable distance between them. She blinked back hot, angry tears as she took in what he had just said to her. She slapped him then, hard and fast before she even registered what she was doing.

A small chuckle escaped her then, anger and hurt churning in her stomach to the point of nausea, but she just couldn’t hold it in. Natalie Martin. Of course. Natalie Martin was just like an older version of her daughter – the one all the other women in the town wanted to be, and the one all the guys wanted to be with. “Mel –“

“No, no its fine. I totally get it.” She cut him off, she couldn’t bear to hear it. “I mean, its not like we’ve been dancing around each other for _years_ , its not like Stiles has ever called me Mom, or like I actually know about all the supernatural crap in this town, meaning we could have a completely honest relationship. No I get it. It’s a Stilinski thing, right? Something about those Martin women. God, I just… I’ve gotta go, I think I’m going to be sick.”

She wrenched away from him, practically fell through the doorway and after slamming the door closed behind her, she crumpled down against it, letting the tears fall then. She regretted the words already – she knows that she should have been happy for her friend, that she was acting like a scorned teenager, but she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. For seven years, she had leaned on him for support, offered him her own strength in return; they had literally and figuratively used each other’s shoulder to cry on, and had such a strong friendship rooted in honesty and respect, that she had truly believed that if there were ever a shift, were he ever ready to take the plunge, that the natural next step would be a romantic entanglement. She sobbed, realising that not only had he chosen to move on, to take the plunge once again, but he had chosen to do it with the one woman in Beacon Hills that made Melissa revert to the self-conscious, awkward girl she had been back in school. And now, she realised, sobs getting heavier, she may have even just cost herself the best friend she had ever had.

 

 

Scott found her on the floor when he came home, using the back door because the front one squeaked now, and he didn’t want to disturb her; he immediately woke his mother, smelling the salty scent of tears and automatically assuming the worst, but when she woke up, she seemed relatively fine. Her chemo signals were depressed, but he knew not to push her when she felt this way. That didn’t stop him from asking why Stiles’ dad’s scent clung to the doorway, anguished and just as depressed. Her expression became stony and she lightly kissed his cheek as she slid past him toward the stairs, and to her room.

 

 

She didn’t see him for three days. Just three days, but after the last conversation they’d had, after the last interaction, with the uncertainty of whether she’d lost him, she was ready to pull out her hair from anxiety. When it reached the point she couldn’t take it anymore, she drove to the station, no idea what she would say, but knowing that she had to fix this, and she, as casually as she could manage, strode into his office where he was sat at his desk, head in his hands. At the sound of the door closing, his head snapped up and his eyes flew open, taking in the harried woman’s appearance with shock, but before he could say anything, words began pouring from her mouth.

“I’m sorry John. I know, I said awful things, and yes, at the time I meant them – I won’t lie to you about that, but I was just so hurt and I know it seems so stupid, but I really thought… I really thought that if you were ready to date that, well, that maybe… You might, maybe, want to… date… me?” She began her tirade so strong and confident but having caught the amused look on her face, she began to taper off and eventually her statement took on the drawn out tone she used for asking questions when she was confused, or clarifying and she wondered why he seemed so God damned amused by this!

“Mel. You are an amazing woman, but sometimes, you are so ridiculous.” He lost a bit of his amusement at the flicker of hurt on her face and powered on. “Look, I have been seeing Natalie yes. I have also arranged a date with her. Both of these are facts, but they don’t quite mean what you think; you remember that brunch when you asked me if I was ready to start dating again? Well, I realised that I hadn’t even thought about dating anymore, because it felt like I was already dating you, and then I just felt so guilty… because of Claudia. I’ve been seeing Natalie as a therapist – off the record of course, but well… She’s been helping me. She set me little steps, you know? Stop wearing my ring, allow myself to look at women. It hasn’t been easy, ‘cause I just so guilty about betraying my wife, and when I was finally in a place where I was ready to move on…” He trailed off, awkward and more scared at this confession, than he had been of any supernatural creature he’d faced.

 

He pushed himself on, knowing he couldn’t let himself lose Melissa’s attention, he had to make her understand. “Mel, I… I was scared, okay? I hadn’t dated anyone since Claudia for twenty years, Natalie was going to let me take her out, until I was comfortable enough to – well, until I had the courage to ask the woman I really wanted to date. The woman I’m crazy enough over that I’m making a bloody cliché declaration of love for, while she looks at me like she wants to check I’m not a pod person.”

Melissa’s heart practically soared, but she remembered the other night, and how her assumption truly had made an ‘ass of u and me’. She tried to steel her resolve, tried to gather the courage to ask if he meant what she thought he did, but the humiliation of the other night was fresh in her mind. She didn’t have to though; she didn’t even have to ask, because apparently the sheriff doubted his verbal skills and thought that the best way to get her point across, would be to provide physical proof. With a kiss.

They had come a long way, from abusive husbands, to potentially gay son crises, to werewolves, kidnapping and a supernatural hit-list. They had been through almost every high and low imaginable, and they knew perfectly well, that their new-found romance meant very little in the grand scheme of things. People were still dying around them, and life was so very far from perfect, but they pushed that from their minds. They allowed themselves this moment, this wondrous moment that neither had truly believed would ever come; they deserved to be happy for however briefly, because theirs would be a great love – they could feel it.

The transition had from friends to lovers had been so unbelievably natural, like breathing, and neither one felt the need to question it – why would they? This had, after all, been seven years in the making.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. If you read all that, then thank you. This was supposed to be a very short drabble fic, but ended up growing to... this monster, but as Lydia says, "not all monsters do monstrous things" - I hope this wasn't too monstrous for you guys. As always feel free to provide me with feedback, and I hope at least some of you guys enjoyed it. :)


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